


Valentine's Dribble Drabble

by Nikkalia



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:39:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkalia/pseuds/Nikkalia
Summary: It's boredom generated fluff. What do you want? Oh, and there's an F-bomb in this. Maybe two. You've been warned.





	Valentine's Dribble Drabble

**Author's Note:**

> It's boredom generated fluff. What do you want? Oh, and there's an F-bomb in this. Maybe two. You've been warned.

The weird pinging of Messenger scared me back into reality. These thirty-six hour days were getting old, and I knew sleep wasn’t happening anytime soon. I look at my phone to see who’s calling and my first thought is to ignore it. But, it’s the I’ve-lost-track-of-how-many missed call, and if I don’t answer, he may never call again.

“Couldn’t have waited another 10 minutes,” I mumble before swiping right. “Hiya handsome!”

“Hiya handsome? Is that how you greet me after ignoring me all day? And where the hell are you, anyway?”

Great, he’s pissed. And drunk.

“I am in the car, and if you’d prefer something a little snarkier, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“So you’re driving and...” A Heineken bottle appears, bottoms up, then slams back on the table. Oh yeah, he’s toast. “What was I saying?”

“You were asking if I was doing something stupid, to which the answer is no. Now, what disaster has sent you into the beer case?”

He leans closer to the camera and I can see just how bloodshot his eyes are. “You’re. Not. Here.”

“No, I’m in the car.”

“You were supposed to be here at 11:05 this morning. American flight 516...something. It says so right here.” He held up the printed itinerary. “Right here!”

“I’m aware.”

“But you never boarded the plane. I called. You never checked in. You couldn’t even bother to tell me. I thought you were floating somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic.”

Tears were forming. Jesus, what a drama queen. Er, king. Before I could even get a word in edgewise, he started again.

“You could’ve just told me you didn’t want to spend Valentine’s with me.”

“What?!?” I shrieked. “Back that thought up and try again. Why would I not want to...”

“Because you don’t love me! You just want to use me to boost your own...”

“Stop it!” He jumped. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, or more likely listening to, but stop that train of thought right fucking there, because I am too tired to deal with your shit right now. And you KNOW better.”

His face went from fury to a look I can only call “someone kicked the puppy.” The cab stopped and I slid out of the car, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I handed the driver his fare and he nodded, mouthing “good luck” before driving away.

“Then why aren’t you here?”

“Because the airline sucks. Because planes break down. Because there’s a freak-assed ice storm parked along the East Coast. Because the fates are conspiring against me.”

Speaking of the puppy, I hear him jump into the front window of his master’s flat, yipping excitedly.

“Bobby, hush. There’s no one out there.”

“What’s he on about?” I ask, hefting myself up the steps.

“Someone’s probably walking along the street. He barks at everyone.” He looks toward the window. “Bobby, stop!”

“Maybe you should check it out?” Yes, please, because it’s cold as hell out here.

“They’ll pass.” His chin lowers to the arm resting on the table. Gods, he looks awful. “I miss you.” comes mumbling out.

“I miss you, too.” Bobby is barking full bore now. “Seriously, you should see what’s up with the dog.”

“Might be a random fan.” I can hear the door knocker through his computer. “Who else would be here at this hour?”

“At this hour,” I dropped the bag to the ground, “it might be important.”

“Bobby, will you hush?” A squeaky toy pings against the window and the dog takes off, only to return at another series of knocks.

“Tom, open the door.”

“Why are you so concerned about whether or not I open the door for some random person at two o’clock in the morning?”

Oh for the love of... pound pound pound “Just open the door.”

“No!”

“Thomas William Hiddleston, open the gods damned door!”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m freezing my ass off out here!”

“It’s not my fault that you locked yourself out of your own house.” he sneered. I turned the camera around.

“Does this look like my front door to you?”

He leaned in again. “No. It looks like mine.”

“Let that sink in for a second.”

His face contorts. Then, about a millisecond after realization sets in, he vanishes from the screen. I end the call as bolts release and the door swings wide. He pounces on me so hard, he nearly knocks both of us down the steps.

“You’re here.” he half-whispers, half-groans into my neck. “Oh God, you’re actually here.”

“I told you I would be. I’m just late.” He pulls away, fresh tears in his eyes. “Very, very late. I’m so sorry.”

A drunken Hiddles kiss lands on my lips, and suddenly all is forgiven.

“Love,” I squeak between kisses.

“Hmm?”

“Still cold.”

“Dear God, it is.” Tom jerks back like he just woke up, and I see that he’s standing in a t-shirt and shorts, barefoot, on the step. With an unbalanced sway, he grabs my bag and leads me inside.

  
Forty-one hours after I started this little adventure, I’m finally able to close my eyes, wrapped in the arms of my slightly snoring and very snuggly Valentine.


End file.
